A shadow figure outside the Ford’s locked door.He jiggles the handlehey can you drive me to Santa ClaritaI said no I have been drinking whiskeywhich was a liehe said let me inI did not

II.

When I wake for a walk in the middle of the night,clothes bunched on red benches under streetlightslike someone had been thereand disappeared

III.

I call my exI can't stop thinking about you

shadows float from her eyesinto mine

cigarette smoke

bats

understand: we livedin the cave of each other

IV.

under orange streetlights

blankets hang from headreststo drape me from the world

​JAMES CROAL JACKSON is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in FLAPPERHOUSE, Rust + Moth, Jet Fuel Review, and elsewhere. He has won the William Redding Memorial Poetry Contest and is founding editor of The Mantle. Find him in Columbus, Ohio or at jimjakk.com